eighteen

Shadows fall to soft twilight silhouette
‘ere thoughts coquette run this roulette;
spry they leap to compete at table to stake
fortune, a wager the bank might break.

Thus fate runs her course in tumbling play
across that disc of time brooking no delay;
The disc spins on and seems not slowing
from gravity’s pull nor to destiny bowing;
Each number unknown to any but she
each number frowned then dashes to flee.